


Honesty

by mostladylikeladythateverladied



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, M/M, Online Harassment, Welcome to the Madness (Yuri!!! on Ice)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostladylikeladythateverladied/pseuds/mostladylikeladythateverladied
Summary: A kiss in the heat of the moment, and Yuri bears the consequences.





	1. Otabek

Yuri was _shining_ when he skated off the ice and made his way straight towards Otabek.

His grin split his face, his adorable dimples making a rare appearance. His eyes were bright with adrenaline and pure, unfiltered joy. He’d never looked like this before; not once after every program Otabek had watched him perform over the years. He was panting, sweaty, and inexhaustibly beautiful.

Yuri’s skating was usually fueled by raw determination and spite, but just this once he was alight with true passion and the love of the sport. This was the Yuri Otabek wanted to see most.

He skated to the edge of the rink, where Otabek still lingered on the ice. Congratulations were on Otabek’s’ lips, but the words were stolen from him when Yuri kissed him.

He was stunned for only a moment, but then the cheering crowd Yuri had whipped up into a frenzy that were now screaming in excitement at the kiss (as unexpected to them as it was to Otabek), faded away. He heard the ocean in his ears as it all paled in comparison to Yuri on his lips.

Yuri seemed to remember himself and pulled away suddenly. He wobbled on his skates and Otabek steadied him with hands on his hips. He tugged Yuri close and silently said _don’t pull away from me._

The connection that sizzled between them let Yuri understand Otabek’s meaning without words, in the same way that Yuri always seemed to understand Otabek without him needing to speak. Otabek was terrible at talking and Yuri could be so bad at listening, but those things didn’t seem to be an obstruction between them, and only them.

Yuri kissed Otabek again, and the crowd cheered their names.

* * *

Yuri departed for the locker room after blushing and stammering his way off the ice. Otabek followed after giving him some time to change and cool his head after the one-two punch of his performance and kissing Otabek in front of a huge crowd.

He found Yuri sitting on a bench, staring at his phone with a disturbingly blank look on his face. Yuri was many things; loud, rude, passionate, unstoppable. But he was not empty. Otabek’s gut wretched and his heart demanded he keep that look off of Yuri’s face for good.

He approached and gently touched Yuri’s shoulder. He started and yelped, as if he hadn’t noticed Otabek entering the room.

“Beka…I…I was…” Yuri quickly gave up on trying to speak, and instead stood, leaving his phone on the bench.

He wrapped his arms around himself and tucked into Otabek’s embrace. He looked painfully small as Otabek gazed down at him.

“This routine…means a lot to me, you know,” Yuri muttered miserably. Otabek silently listened.

“This ‘Russian Fairy’ thing has never been me. Yakov built that image up because of my looks and because it was marketable, and Lilia built on it to make me into her prima ballerina. It’s never been me, and every program I skate as the Russian Fairy makes me feel like a liar.

“The exhibition program we made together, this is what I want to be, what I want people to know about me. I don’t want to lie anymore. And I just…I wanted to be honest with you, too. I really, _really_ like you, Beka. If I want to be honest in my skating, I have to be honest about this too.”

Otabek squeezed Yuri a little closer to him. He didn’t need to be told that Yuri’s feelings were honest, he’d said as much through the kiss they’d shared. Still, Otabek had never been _liked_ before. Loved by his family, adored by his fans, put on a pedestal by his country, but never touched by the innocent beginnings of love. He liked hearing Yuri, his Yura, say it.

“It’s not wrong, is it? To be honest about how I feel? Because it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels…so good. To be here.”

Yuri’s hand touched Otabek’s chest, gripped his shirt and crumpled it between shaking fingers.

“What happened, Yura?” Otabek asked gently, and Yuri’s breath hitched, “You were so happy.”

Yuri burrowed into Otabek’s body, seeking warmth and comfort only his Beka could provide.

“I just wanted to post a selfie before I took my makeup off. And then…I read the comments on my feed. Most of them were talking about how great my program was and how happy people were for us, but the comments from back home…”

Yuri crumpled, his legs giving out from underneath him. Otabek caught him and gently settled them down onto the floor. The locker room tiling was uncomfortable, but Otabek didn’t notice it. His focus was on Yuri.

“They’re saying I’m a traitor to my country, that I betrayed everyone that looked up to me, that I’m disgusting and sick in the head,” Yuri wailed, no longer bothering to hold back his sorrow. Tears poured down his cheeks, blackened by his thick makeup.

Otabek wasn’t sure what to say. He’d never been a social butterfly, and his asking Yuri to become his friend had been the boldest thing he’d ever done. Then, Yuri kissed him and Otabek knew with absolute certainty it wasn’t friendship alone he wanted. He didn’t know what to say to people on his best of days, let alone how to comfort someone in distress.

But Yuri needed him. So he swallowed his insecurities and spoke,

“When you were skating, were you doing it for Russia?”

“Huh?” Yuri asked, the unexpected question stemming the flow of his tears.

“Who were you skating for?” Otabek repeated, “For them?”

Yuri shook his head, “N-no. I wanted this for me. And…and for you.”

“Then it doesn’t matter what your country thinks. It wasn’t for them.”

Otabek knew his words were clumsy. He wasn’t saying enough, and he felt like he wasn’t saying it right. But Yuri’s prophetic way of understanding Otabek came through. Yuri laughed a little and the small sound meant the world to Otabek. Whatever agonies were plaguing Yuri, this wasn’t enough to banish them, but maybe it was a start.

“I want to kiss you again. I won’t back out of this. I was skating for you out there, too,” Yuri murmured, soothed for the moment.

“So the stripping part was for me, then?” Otabek asked, entirely deadpan and straight faced.

Yuri burst into raucous laughter.


	2. Viktor

Otabek wanted to be the man Yuri needed, but he simply wasn’t.

Kazakhstan wasn’t the most accepting place either, but Otabek’s social media presence was mostly selfies on Yuri’s Instagram rather than his own. If there was bile spewed at him, he didn’t see it. And if he did see it, he never much cared.

Yuri was different. He felt everything deeply, passionately. Every little emotion became a supernova inside of him, glowing like a beacon. It’s what was most attractive about him to Otabek. Yet, the joy was felt as deeply as the sorrow, and one thing they had in common was putting on a brave face before adversity. They diverged again as Otabek dealt with things internally while Yuri bottled them up.

One day Otabek would be good enough for Yuri, would know him so well that the cultural and personal rifts between them no longer mattered. This relationship was only a few days young, however, and Otabek was not yet that man.

Days had passed, and Yuri had refused every invitation Otabek issued to him to go out and have some fun. He even invited Yuri to come see him DJ, which was also rejected. Otabek was so glum he passed off the gig to a friend. He couldn’t enjoy himself or do his work justice if he knew Yuri was so destitute he refused doing something he was previously so enthused about.

Every time Otabek visited his hotel room, he was on his phone, reading his feed with a blank stare. Sometimes, heartbreakingly, he had tear tracks silently sliding down his cheeks.

Holding him, whispering comforting words, and trying to get him to put down his phone came to nothing.

So he went to Viktor. He and his fiancée were still in town after the exhibition, as Yuri and Otabek were. The gaggle of senior division skaters had all taken to traveling together during the competitive season, and sometimes fell into the habit when not fighting for the gold.

Viktor had given Otabek his and Yuuri’s numbers after Yuri’s exhibition, along with a disturbingly cheerful threat of violence should he hurt their ‘son.’ Otabek swore on that day to do whatever it took to look after his Yura, and right now that required him to take a step back.

“He won’t leave his room and he won’t stop going through every awful comment he gets,” Otabek explained after meeting up with Viktor in a café close to their hotel, “Can you speak to him? I don’t like seeing him so upset.”

Viktor smiled a little bitterly, “Because I know what he’s going through?”

Otabek nodded. “Don’t you?”

A shadow passed over Viktor’s face, “Well, I was teenager once, who was too extravagant and too boy-crazy for some.” The shadow dissipated, leaving behind Viktor’s usually sunny disposition, “Of course I’ll talk to him. I can’t leave my son brooding in his room all day; the little sunflower will wilt at this rate.”

Otabek smiled. In the years he spent admiring Yuri from afar, he’d voraciously consumed every piece of media he could find on the object of his esteem. One thing he’d gleaned from interviews and his social media was that Yuri’s parents weren’t a part of his life, though Yuri refused to disclose details to the public.

But he’d been taken in by two men who adored him and understood him, no matter how vehemently Yuri denied his affections for Viktor and Yuuri. Otabek was grateful for their presence in Yuri’s life.

“Leave it to me, Otabek.”

* * *

_Slut. Showing off like that._

_Disgusting._

_Faggot._

_Should have seen this coming. He really is a fairy._

_Where are his parents?_

_My child was watching._

_Shut up, you fucks, it wasn’t that bad. His shirt rode up a little, so what?_

_Whore, kissing that brown guy in front of everyone._

Yuri knew he was only hurting himself, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He saw the messages of support mixed in with the poison, but the hatred is what stuck in his mind and festered until he couldn’t sleep because angry voices kept screaming at him in his head.

He’d just wanted to be honest, and when so many people said he was disgusting for what he’d done, he thought maybe he was honestly disgusting.

He should be listening to Otabek, not anonymous and faceless commenters online. But it was so hard to look away.

“You shouldn’t be reading that,” Viktor’s voice told him in Russian.

Yuri yelped and fumbled with his phone, dropped it, and grumbled oaths at Viktor as he had to kneel down and search under the bed to find it.

When he retrieved it, he tossed it up onto the bed before standing up. By the time he was on his feet, Viktor had hurried over and snatched away his phone.

“Don’t take other people’s shit, old man,” Yuri groused, also reverting to their shared mother tongue. He was tempted to grab for his phone, but he just _knew_ that Viktor would hold it up out of his reach and make Yuri try to jump for it. Yuri refused to give him the satisfaction.

“How the fuck did you get in?” Yuri demanded to know. The only person he’d given a spare keycard to his hotel room was…

“Beka,” Yuri answered his own question before Viktor could, “the traitor.”

“You know he only wants to help you. He doesn’t like seeing you so upset, and neither do I.”

Yuri scoffed and flopped backwards onto his bed. Viktor brushed aside the discarded candy wrappers from the sheets and sat down next to him. He frowned disapprovingly at the obvious signs of his binge-eating. Yuri usually took excellent care of himself, following a diet that kept his calories low and his nutritional content high.

Fuck, he really was a mess, wasn’t he?

“I made a grievous error when I assigned you to On Love: Agape,” Viktor said apropos of nothing.

“Huh?” Yuri asked, a bit stupefied. Where was this coming from?

“My intention was to get both you and Yuuri out of your comfort zones, which worked splendidly for Yuuri, but I feel only damaged you further.”

“Uh…” Yuri really wasn’t following Viktor’s line of thinking.

“I was forcing you further into a stereotype you’d been forced into your entire career. I realized that when you performed your exhibition program. I wasn’t breaking your boundaries, I was restricting you into old chains. I want to apologize to you for that, and if you would let me, I’d like to create new choreography for you in the future. Something that better suits the real you.”

Yuri blinked up at Viktor, his eyes owl-like and shocked. He sat up on the bed and searched Viktor for any signs of deception, and found none.

He’d pursued Viktor to another country to get him to choreograph a routine, only to find out he’d forgotten all about his promise, and now he was offering?

“I’m still working on this coaching thing, so be patient with me?” Viktor asked, batting his eyes like an ingénue gazing at the object of her affections. Which was an incredibly creepy comparison and Yuri gagged a little when he thought of it.

“Ugh, Katsudon’s really done a number on you hasn’t he?” Yuri muttered, then gagged again when Viktor swooned.

Silently, Yuri let himself fall just a bit to the side, and if he just happened to fall onto Viktor’s shoulder, he only stayed there because he was tired.

He knew what Viktor was doing. Yuri had all the comfort and the love he needed from Otabek, and he didn’t need more from Viktor. No, what Viktor knew Yuri needed was hope. Hope that this slog would end and he had things to look forward to, things that meant a great deal more to him than the hateful comments.

He knew Viktor must have gone through all of this, too.

Skating and Otabek and _ugh_ Viktor and Yuuri would all be there tomorrow and every day after that. Yuri was a soldier and he had a platoon of people to back him up and fight against the scourge assaulting him. And the people _right here_ mattered a hell of a lot more than the ones _out there_.

If Viktor felt his shirt begin to moisten from Yuri’s tears, he didn’t say anything. He just wrapped an arm around the boy and let him cry.

_Viktor could have told Yuri that the rest of the world wasn’t Russia. That by browsing through Yuri’s feed, Viktor saw more encouragement than hatred. But numbers and statistics did no good when a scared, hurting youth was crying in his arms._

_So he let Yuri cry, and let himself be a solid presence that he could rely on. He’d be damned if he let Yuri down again._


End file.
